Who We Were
by BeautyInSadness
Summary: Dougie Poynter is your average run of the mill 15 year old, or is he? Meetings of an unatural kind take over his seemingly dull life, when the threat of losing a friend is involved.
1. Chapter 1

This, is a new fic by me. It's looking hopeful. But I'd love some reviews and stoof. Don't worry if it's a little confusing to begin with, its intended.

Mwah  
X

**Who We Were**

**Chapter One  
**

Her skin was paler than mine; almost a pure white, except for the small rosy glow that sometimes played across her cheeks. Her mysterious, captivating eyes were as black as the night, sometimes hinting a streak of brown that struck through the middle, only stopping for her pupil, then continuing to the opposite side. I couldn't help but admire this, and the way her hair shined a blue as the moonlight caught the curls that travelled half way down her back, almost touching on her curvaceous waist.

Her clothes were rather tatty; they didn't do her otherwise perfect features justice. The white flowing dress she always wore was ripped, torn in some places, caked in dirt, and stains in others; it hadn't occurred to me it was a wedding dress. But from my imagination, it was obvious that this piece of clothing was once very grand, it **would** have done her beauty justice. She was always barefoot, something else that interested me. I'd never seen her wear shoes before, although perhaps they weren't needed in her current state.

She was a great listener, great at advice too to be honest. She seemed to be wiser each time she spoke, although as she was a great deal older than me, you'd expect a few wise words to roll off her tongue on occasion.

We met at the same time and same day without fail. She didn't really have a say in the matter, the choice wasn't hers to be had, as she'd told me many times when I'd asked her why. Being only fifteen, I didn't quite understand her small mumblings about phases of the moon and a tear in time that had allowed me to be within her extraordinary presence.

So, every 14th of the month at seven in the evening I would make my way to the graveyard to see her, to talk to her. Not the usual place to converse in, I'll admit to that, but it set the scene quite perfectly for the tale that would eventually unfold from within it. I'd usually end up spending the whole night speaking with her until daybreak, when she'd be out of my reach again for another month.

I know what you're thinking. This is some fantasy, concocted by the wild imagination of a fifteen year old boy who has no other interest in his dull, nothing-filled life. You're wrong. She is; or should I say was… Either way, she is no daydream of the mind, she's no vision that I could create through some whimsical fancy. She is…

She just is.


	2. Chapter 2

_Cheers you guys for the reviews so far.  
This fictions taking a lot of my effort, a lot more so than any other I've written.  
So it's like a huuuuge project for me  
Anyway, here's chapter two, hope you all enjoy._

x

**Chapter Two**

It was hard to comprehend just what her purpose was, as to why she was here… or is it there? Why had I been chosen as her confidant, or she to be mine? My soul connection to conversation, and her only link to the present day. There's so much I've not dared ask her, yet so much I know I wouldn't understand if given the answer anyway. It scares me anyhow, the idea of coming to terms with why she's here, it seems to bare too many memories that cloud judgement on her behalf, and pure, uninterrupted innocent confusion on my own.

I could barely remember what my world involved when she was never in it. I knew there was a constant emptiness, loneliness caused by the isolation that a public high school can deal out to an adolescent not at all liked by his peers. Yet, it was still there to a certain degree, I was at least aware of that much. Even with Sylvie's rather unnatural company, it didn't stop those, who knew nothing of her existence, tormenting me to their hearts content. I was merely more tolerable of it, or ignorant. I held something far more precious back from them now; I had a secret with authority and awe, something any other would never understand, something to give me courage to smile whilst enduring a vulgar mathematics lesson with those flexible rulers being pounded off my skull repeatedly. I was mature now, they were not.

There's something rather satisfactory about walking home on a breezy February afternoon. School's just ended for the half term on a rather odd day of the week, and it's a Tuesday. Admittedly, it's bitter cold, the suns at it's highest and yet I'm still shivering, breathing in to my numb hands, rubbing them together for heat that fails to be produced. The walk home is quicker than any other day, I'm always late no matter how fast I sprint, Jog, or at the risk of social suicide, power walk. My rucksack is sagging behind me with the weight of books, and I contemplate tightening the straps for a few moments as I turn the corner in to my street.

Eldermoor Close. It always was, and still is bit of a dump in all honesty. I never liked it much. Everyone was too close and friendly and… I couldn't bare it. In each others pockets, and always knowing everyone else's business. I wasn't surprised when I found Hayley Tate following me one time when her mother had mentioned I was the 'dodgy boy from number 24'. Sylvie gave her the fright of her life if I remember rightly. It's safe to say the silly little twelve year old has never bothered looking at me since, nor has her mother.

"Dougie." Great. There's something about that tone in my mothers voice that makes me squirm unpleasantly on the inside, my stomach churns in a vile way, and my palms sweat. She's not happy with me, and I've been in the house a full thirty one and a half seconds.

"Yes?" I call back feebly.

"Your maths teacher just called." The day gets better. She finally pokes her head around the kitchen door, and shuffles in to the hallway, her apron tied neatly around her waist and neck as she shoves her sunshine yellow rubber gloves in to the large front pocket without grace. The frown on her face shows it was not praise from the mathematics department. "He's very worried, Dougie."

Yes, I'm sure he's worried. The students in his class continue in breaking rulers across my head despite his threats. Of course he's concerned. For his stationary.

"Dougie!" She's sharp, noticing the sarcastic smile unearth onto my lips. "You skipped detention this afternoon. You're grounded!"

But, tonight is…

Sylvie would never forgive me. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is the next instalment you guys. Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated. I also would love some constructive criticism, like points where I could improve and such. I'm always up for improving my writing.   
Anyway, on with the chapter  
x_

**Chapter Three**

Grounded. I never get grounded. Well, I never used to. I had the feeling my mother wanted to keep me in the house for some reason or another, not just because I was being punished for being the 'layabout son' as she had kindly called me. You can't really blame her for wanting to keep tabs on where her teenage son wonders off to every once in a while, especially when he doesn't talk to her, remaining confined in his room for the majority of the time after he's come home from that prison he refers to as school. I've got to say, she's really pushed the boat out with this grounding.

My fingers curl around the smooth varnished door knob as I twist it. I think I've done this about three times now, ignoring the fact that there's a key in the other side of the door. I'm locked in. This is a new extreme for my mum, the locking in. Imprisoned in my own bedroom. Fortunately, this space, this pit that's musty from the smell of week old discarded clothes and food packets I've never bothered to bin, it actually holds all the necessities that a boy like me needs in his everyday life. I stare around my room, hoping something helpful will leap out and give me a shove in the right direction. The sign doesn't appear, and I'm left to route among the various items strewn across my carpet.

I'm close to screaming when I realise I can't find what I'm looking for. I'm acutely aware after ten minutes of furiously ferreting through the useless junk, that I don't even know what I might be looking for. A key to my bedroom door would have been helpful, although I hadn't seen it since that one time, when I was a lot younger and I had bitten my younger sister's arm in an attempt to escape her wrath after stealing and reading aloud from her diary. I throw a pencil case at my cupboard door; it doesn't achieve much, just opens said door and makes a loud satisfying thud against the wall that is joined to my sister's room. I hear two angry thuds in reply and some muffled profanity yelled from her lungs. It can't be helped, I'm having a crisis. A breakdown. My rational thinking has flown out of the window, shortly followed by my common sense.

I look at the window cautiously. I'd never noticed how wide it was before. It could easily fit something big through it, such as a person, like me. I scurry over to it, my foot catching in the strap of my bag in the process, causing me to stumble, my face hitting the floor hard. I don't remember much of the pain. I had my mission now. I looked at the clock. Five.

My stomach suddenly felt extremely heavy and it wasn't from the bizarre dinner I'd been fed only half an hour previous. I'm not going to be at the church in time. If I'm going to go, I have to go now. I look to the door again. The chances of it opening by the power of the imagination are slim, I reckon. There is one option and one option only.

I realise now, as I wobble precariously on my window ledge, why I've always used the front door before. Heights are not my forte, in fact, I can't stand the buggers.

I hear the door unlock. I turn; my mother is standing on the other side of my bedroom, her eyes wide, and her mouth torn between what to say to me. Whether to scorn my disobedience and throw one of her hair curlers at me, or to persuade me not to jump and risk breaking a limb. I choose not to stick around long enough to see her choice.

My best pair of jeans are ruined by the fall, the hard squelching splat of mud cushions the blow, yet I appear now as if I've soiled myself. I get up nevertheless, walking, or rather, waddling out of the gate, breaking in to an awkward run down the street.

Sylvie better appreciate this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I've never quite understood why people dislike graveyards. That probably sounds rather morbid of me, but I do find them somewhat restful. I'd usually stroll in through those heavy gates, admiring the scenery, taking in each moment of silence that struck me as if it were music. I didn't get much peace and quiet back at home, and you wouldn't expect it at school either. It's actually quite impossible. But, instead of walking at a leisurely pace, I'm practically sprinting past all the unimportant headstones and the decorative statues that don't hold any meaning to me. I know exactly where I'm going and I'm…

Oh for God's sake.

The stone podium, upon which a familiar statue stands, is empty. There is usually two figures placed upon the tall platform, and yet I only spy one lone shape. I look at my watch. Three minutes past seven. I've missed her arrival. Well done, Dougie. I'm sure Sylvie will be so impressed when you try and explain this to her. Not only do you actually look like the tramp you walk past in town on the way to school, you look like you've soiled yourself, and to top it all of you're late to see her. This will not do. And where the bloody hell is she? She can't have gone far. Did she go looking for me?

"You're late." There's a cold chill running from where the whisper hits my ear, travelling down my shoulder to my spine. I sigh, somewhat with relief, and a little annoyed at being told off with her irritated tone. "Why?"

I turn and take in her features. I take a gulp of air, and swallow, chewing my tongue in thought, turning over possible answers in my head. It doesn't occur to me that I could tell the truth. My mother locked me in my room with my TV remote for company so I had to escape out of my first floor window. No, it just doesn't seem to be acknowledged.

"Well?" Her bare foot taps impatiently on the bark scattered floor, her gaze has moved from mine and she's staring up at the statue we're both stood by, enclosed by a circular hedge that hides us from the view of possible onlookers. She sighs heavily and moves forward, seemingly forgetting her question, and proceeding in trailing a small hand over her male component of the statue, stroking the cold stone cheek that is turned away, his face always hidden from view.

"Sylvie…" I begin, my mouth twisting in an unusual way, torn between what to look like when she turns to face me once more, one hand clinging on to the stone mans own pleading one, the other outstretched towards me, tears making small streams down her rosy cheeks. I'm not one to know how to comfort a girl, let alone this particular one, if you can even call her that. I settle for a sympathetic smile and hold her hand in mine. I forgot my gloves. She's so cold. Always is.

"One hundred years, Dougie." She pulls me closer, and looks up at the stone figure once more. The guy that had always captivated her gaze, set in stone, and always looking a little miserable; he was looking a little different today. Okay, that probably sounded a little odd of me. His head was turned at a different angle, and he was bent on one knee, one arm held out, his hand carelessly limp and begging, the other arm drawn in to himself, clutched to his chest. I frowned up at the podium and then at Sylvie who's dark eyes glimmered still with tears.

"One hundred years, what?" I ask, looking at her hand in mine, the grip becoming gradually tighter, and her gaze intensifying causing me to glance back up at her again.

"Since I died."

This statement shouldn't surprise me. I'd known for a while. Id never actually asked her, nor had she told me of how she came to be… well, of how she happened to become one half of a statue that sat in a decorative garden in church grounds. It just didn't seem the right thing to talk about at the time. Although, now I doubt I can avoid the conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Right. So she's dead. I understand that. Thats one hurdle jumped, now all I need to work on is learning to speak again and becoming vocal in front of her. Not a hard task you may think, however, I'm still silent and wide eyed five minutes later, her stare still burning furiously in to my own. Her glare unnerves me at this point. I realise that quite quickly. Her pupils dilate, the colour around them alternate between a shocking blue and an emerald green; she cannot decide her current mood.

"It can't be that bad." I find my lips move and that sentence is uttered. Of all the things I could have found to say, and I choose one of the most diabolical lines possible. Sylvie's hand falls from mine, dropping limply to her side to become functionless and hidden among the great and many folds of her tattered dress. She sighs and lifts her eyes to the heavens, crossing then to _him _again. "I really didn't mean to say anything bad." I splutter quickly. I feel every possible excuse churning through my mind. Any explanation would be welcome as I see tears drip incandescently down her flushed cheeks.

"I know." Her voice wavers, cracking under the pressure of staying composed for me. Did she really feel the need to be strong in front of me? Was that boundary really between us? She slumps suddenly to the floor, her dress following afterwards, forming a cushioned area around her knees. Her small hands cover her face and for a few moments there's silence.

"I just don't understand." She wasn't the only one. Her sobs erupt and she shakes against the podium she had previously been positioned on top of. I kneel next to her, the squelch of mud underneath is barely acknowledged when I know I now have some sort of role to play for my distraught friend. I shuffle closer, my fingertips brushing over the silk of her apparel before I slide my arm around her cold being, pulling her in to my own living, warm presence. I bite my lip, somewhat apprehensively as she guides her hands around my middle, locking her fingers together as she nuzzles her face in to my chest. "We never did anything wrong. It shouldn't have come to this."

I don't question her words. How can I when I haven't a clue of what she's even speaking of. Of what time is she crying about? Is she defending her innocence when she was alive, or after she'd died? I stay silent and still, my only movement being my hand as it moves from her shoulder to dragging my fingers through her hair, yet her crying doesn't cease. If anything, the more time that lapses where I don't talk seems to give way to more anguished cries. I feel I must intervene quite soon.

So I take that gargantuan leap, that so far I've tried my hardest to suppress and not bear thinking about.

"How..." I cough involuntarily, choking on thoughts before they form as words. I clear my throat, noticing her volume has reduced to nothing but silence, her eyes staring up at me inquisitively, waiting, knowing what I'm going to ask. She's ready for this. And I see in how her gaze softens and she blinks away her tears that she's relieved I'm biting the bullet now. She wanted me to ask.

"How did you die?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

There was a small silence after my rather blunt question, there seemed to be nothing else making sound apart from my own racing heart and my shallow breathing, caused by the suspense Sylvie had since left me to wallow in. I look up at her again, and she smiles, her lips curving yet failing to show any feeling other than sorrow; how bizarre, yet I can't help but share the emotion from her glances.

"It is, I'm afraid, more a case of why I died, that we need to discuss, Dougie." Sylvie allowed her tone to break from its previously monotonous frame. I nodded for her to continue, yet there was that silence again whilst she fiddled with the lace of the corset she wore. "I was very popular amongst my class when I met Danny." She finally spoke, something different in the way she said the stranger's name, yet she seemed very familiar with its sound.

"Who's Danny?" I interrupted; unaware she was merely just pausing to gather her words for correct formation. I continue, still oblivious, ignoring the slight look of irritation in my friend's eyes. I point blindly behind me, "Is that him?"

With this one question, I single-handedly break Sylvie's composure. I take a small jerk of her head as a nod and the sobs erupt again. I've never been good with comforting the living, let alone the dead, so you can imagine my alarm when her grip around me tightens. I feel the faintest icy touch upon my cheek, and I realise that her lips have made contact with my skin. I feel myself blush and I'm already somewhat shy when she does it again.

I'm unsure by now, as to what this means. I've done nothing to deserve such a token of affection, nor have I asked or made any hint as to whether I want one or not. Yet there she goes again, small kisses planted over my face, then finally there's the clincher.

Her lips push to mine. We kiss. A peculiar feeling rushes up and down my spine continuously as she remains in contact. My fingertips tingle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to attention, yet I know this is wrong. Sylvie is my friend, she is my _dead _friend. There's an obvious line that I shouldn't be crossing here.

Yet, why does it feel like I've done this before, when I know for a fact I've never held another girls hand before this moment. This isn't new to me, yet I should be feeling some kind of virginity is being broken. And yet, I feel comfortable and as if...

It ends.

I watch as she pulls away sheepishly, untangling herself from my arms that I've somehow weaved around her. I feel myself frown, confused and still very surprised at the turn of events.

"So, is that... him?" I repeat, struggling with forming the right syllables in the right places.  
"Yes. And no." She replied simply, still smiling. "He and I, are merely imprints of who we were."  
"But that is the guy though, right? That's Danny..." I attempt at setting the record straight, although I find the matter exceeds all my expectations when she answers me.

"Yes, but so are you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

I don't think there's a certain word that could describe the confusion I felt at that point, it was definitely unlike anything I've experienced before. I hate to admit this, but it was unlikely that I was going to come to terms with this in a quiet manner, I would not conform to this idea; it was ridiculous, and impossible. Although, one would think that the Sylvie's existence was then also ridiculous and impossible, and there lay my dilemma.

"I'm Dougie." I stated plainly, shuffling away from her. "I can't be him. I'm _not _him."

Sylvie merely shrugged, slumping further to the floor, arms falling to her sides, small thuds on the floor. She looked down to her dress then up again at me, her nose crumpling upwards as her face distorted with a glance of disgust.

"You do not believe me?" She asked.  
"No." I answered quietly.

I did not want to appear as if I was defying Sylvie, I was simply having a crisis over my identity. I've been Dougie Poynter for nearly sixteen years. How on earth did she expect me to accept that I'm not who I am. Or is it, who I was? Or...

I shouldn't even be contemplating this.

"It's not real. You're pulling my leg." I speak a little louder. She sighs annoyed and turns her body to face me, edging closer, her face inches from my own. Her eyes sparkle, glimmering a violent blue. I attempt at moving again, although it appears I've lost control of all bodily functions, and I'm unable to twitch, let alone scamper away from the crazy coloured eyes that still burn in to every thought that passes through my mind.

"Naturally, you're going to be confused. You won't be the only one." She blinks finally, her iris' a shocking pink. She smiles. I say nothing. I don't feel like asking anymore questions now. I'm scared I'll ask the right one, and more will be revealed. I'd much rather be oblivious from now on. I'd much rather go back to being Dougie Poynter, the dodgy boy from number 24. Not Dougie Poynter, the boy who jumps out of windows to talk to a dead girl.

"Come here tomorrow, Dougie." Sylvie continues when she understands I don't have words to verbalise. "Things may become a lot clearer."

I shake my head. I'm not doing anything of the sort. I'm not breaking routine because some dead chick told me to. I don't do what people tell me to. I don't...

"Okay." I mutter.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thankyou so much to beccasamcflyfan, Lawlita, Lindsey [aha hii again, IXWriteXSins, Kels [hello to you too love, ZukieLove [another familiar er..name ____ And Soph!  
You're all spectacularly amazing.  
Sorry this fic is always slow to be updated  
Here's the next chapter flying your way  
___

**Chapter Eight**

I am Danny. Danny is me. I am also Dougie. I'm like two in one. Buy one get one free. I'm so confused. I'd thought of nothing else the entire night. I left Sylvie at midnight, watching her return to her previous fixed stone state. I had trampled home slowly, mum watching me with intent as I crossed the barrier called the front door. I didn't speak.

"Well?" Her tone had been hard hitting, nearly pushing me back physically. I looked up and merely grunted in response, traipsing upstairs to my room, not emerging until the following morning when I would set back in to routine once more.

School.

I'm sure school doesn't benefit everyone. You're either really successful from your time spent there, or you're revolted by the very site of the building that repulses ever cell in your body just by it's existence. I fear, I was the latter. I never cared much for the educational institution I'd been packed in to, ever since I'd discovered my intense dislike for every other being that attended. I was sure to be doomed for the rest of my educated life, surely.

I let out a long sigh, allowing my rucksack to sag and pull backwards behind me, resting over my bum as I stood in front of the foreboding double doors. It looks the same as it always does. The glass on windows and doors are either stained with age and rain water, or cracked and smashed. I don't take long to analyse my surroundings, after all I come across them everyday, and today of course, will be no different. Because this place is too ordinary and dull, like myself when I'm not in Sylvie's exceptional company.

I move on, shuffling lethargically inside, through the warm corridors, hesitation briefly when I encounter the handle of the door which holds a day's worth of torment. I brace myself, walking inside. The room is full and I walk, head low towards my seat, finding it occupied. I look up, finding unfamiliar big round blue eyes staring up at me.

"Is this your seat?" The girl speaks quietly, looking around as the buzz of the class becomes near silent. The pack of hyena worthy teenagers have caught interest in the interaction between 'the new girl' and myself. I nod, not wanting to draw any more unwelcome attention, I hardly want to drag her reputation as far to the ground as mine. She sighs and gathers her things hastily, shoving items in to her large printed cotton bag, hoisting it over her shoulder and scanning the room for another available desk. I know there are none. But I know that she's no longer my problem as I sit down in my rightful seat, yet that doesn't stop my eyes from tracing her step towards the front of the room where she voices her problem to Mr Malloy, who is keen to help.

"Dougie." He calls to me. Why he chooses me, I'm not certain. I can't exactly help her 'fit in' and he knows it. "Let Rebecca sit beside you for today, until I can find her someone suitable"

Yes, that sums things up completely.


	9. Chapter 9

_Woosh  
Wayy pleased about reviews so far  
thankyou  
no time to reply individually im afraid.  
Im really tired from a very busy day at sixth form  
___

_xo_

**Chapter Nine**

She was irritating, I discovered quickly. After no more than ten minutes of being within her company her previously quiet voice had been relinquished as if this other side had merely been in hiding. I'd been informed of why she moved to Farnock High, why she loved the French language and even why her favourite number is thirteen. I took little effort in explaining I had no interest in her digressing this information to me, yet this seemed to have little effect on her.

"You're so stubborn" She contorts her face in a way I find familiar, yet I cannot place exactly where I've seen this before. I dismiss this, immediately putting it down to a character trait found in all aggravating young women. I do not reply and remain ignorant to her comment.

"I'm talking to you." I had of course noticed this, and yet, I still didn't make any response. I did not want to, nor did I have to. I just had to sit this out for another half hour, then I'd be free to go to the rest of my lessons, unaccompanied. "Will you at least say _something_!" She exaggerated her last word and moved her face closer to mine, her eyes piercing mine in a way I knew, in a way I documented as being identical to something I'd recently experienced with the eyes of a dead girl. I moved back quickly, failing to keep balance on two chair legs and tumbled to the thinly carpeted floor below with a shameful thud.

"Poynter's just realised he's sitting next to a girl!" How childish. "Chill, Dougie, we know you're not used to the female species but no need to treat them like aliens." Oh har-de-fcking-har. I'm acutely aware of the laughter that's hurling my way. I'm also acutely aware of the girl known as Rebecca, holding her hand out to me. How very peculiar. That _is _alien to me. I reach out and I stand up, her grip on my hand tightens as she smiles with something I think is reassurance. She turns and shoots a glare to whoever is still finding my embarrassment amusing and then bends to pick up my fallen chair, placing it back on all four legs.

I stare, still bemused by her attitude, and sit down beside her once more, silent again. I bite my lip and turn to her. She's already looking at me expectantly, she knows I'm going to have to say something now. It's my turn. Good will and all that jazz I suppose. I groan inwardly. This goes against all of my own moral ruling. Don't trust anyone but yourself Poynter. Just stick to small talk. Be polite. Don't do anything stupid.

"Wanna sit with me at lunch."

Good grief, Poynter, I'd slap you if I wasn't you right now!


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry it's taken so long. A lot of sixth form work. And I'm thoroughly tiiired.  
____  
reviews muchly appreciated. _

**Chapter Ten**

Somewhere in between that moment where I lost my sanity and given away all my chances of having a solitary lunchtime, and the time in which I spent sitting in the back of a classroom in another lesson, I'd forgotten about the invitation I'd given to Rebecca about joining me for lunch. In actual fact, I had quite forgotten to go to lunch. I say, I forgot, it was more the torment of underestimating how long I could withstand blows to the stomach when I'd apparently been looking where I shouldn't whilst taking a whizz in the toilets. I shouldn't have been so bold as to use the urinal, no.

"Dirty little pervert." Thump.

"Gay boy." Thump.

There's something rather repetitive about this scene. Repetitive and painful. My eyes are screwed shut, my arms dangling by my sides and my abdomen twisting with the pain of the hard fists pummelling in to it at speed continuously. Over and Over.

I notice the clock as I finally prise my eyes open. I daren't look straight ahead of me. Robert Steel's eyes are not ones I want to make contact with. I glance to my side. Lunch break is nearly over. I can't imagine why my stomach churns when I think of breaking my agreement to company at lunch. I can't imagine why this feeling over powers that of the physical pain I'm currently receiving.

I groan and I'm released, left to slump backwards and down, knocking the back of my head off the urinal. There's a low and heavy chuckle from my foe as he looks back at my crumpled form before strolling from the toilets. I make the gargantuan effort of standing, followed by the enormous leap of stumbling out of the room, my self respect crawling miles behind me.

There are few funny looks thrown in my direction as I wander through the corridor that eventually leads to the school's not so prestigious entrance. I glance back and see that I'm being followed. I sigh, and feel a little apprehensive when a familiar head of blonde hair comes storming after me. I stop, standing still half in and half out of the doorway. My shoulders relax and my head drops as two shoed feet stand close to my own.

"Do you always ask girls to sit with you and then leave them hanging?" Rebecca's statement hangs in the air and I'm silent. "Have you recoiled back in to your shell again?"

"Rebecca…" I breathe her name quietly, instantly hoping she hasn't heard my half hearted attempt at speaking.

"Don't call me that." She scorns. I look up and her scowl softens. "Bec."

"Bec." I smile, toying with the name, repeating it over in my head.

"So, you want to get out of here before you're thrashed again?"


	11. Chapter 11

_Thankyou guys. More is coming your way  
___

**Chapter Eleven**

It's not like I've never skipped school before. Hell, I'm sure it's no surprise to my teachers when they discover they're a pupil missing and it happens to be me. Nor does it shock me that my classmates don't realise I'm not attending classes anyway. However, I've never skipped school with someone before. It implies familiarity with said person. It implies a friendship of some sort. It implies a thrill of some kind. It is neither.

"So what do you do?" She says, her hand clamping around my wrist before she pulls it in the direction she's leading me in. I comply, if only to avoid confrontation, yet I can't help but feel uncomfortable with the contact being made. She looks back at me, slowing her pace as we turn the corner away from school. We're walking side by side now. "What do you do normally? If I weren't here, what would you be doing?"

I know the answer to this question. I know that as soon as I speak it, I'm about to be discarded. Her stare pierces and burns mine. I'm too familiar with that gaze. I know that look without ever even laying eyes on her. Her eyes sparkle and she grins when I don't answer. I don't see what's so amusing but I still don't say or react in any way, shape or form.

"You're selectively mute, aren't you?" That is her conclusion. I roll my eyes and sigh heavily, showing my irritation, hoping from this she'd understand I don't need her words. "Or you're just ignorant, and I don't usually waste my time on arseholes."  
"I'm not ignorant! I just think you're annoying. Everyone else leaves me alone, why can't you?!" I pull a face, screwing my features up with a frown. Her smile just grows. What is it with her? Are all girls like this? Sylvie certainly isn't. Sylvie knows me. Sylvie knows how to talk to me. Sylvie understands me.  
"I can go if you like..." She releases my wrist, yet stays walking beside me. I don't answer.

I'm defeated.

"Where are we going?" I sigh, kicking at the floor carelessly, tripping over my untied shoelaces in the process. My gaze slides discretely to Bec's wrist, trying to decipher the upside down time on her watch. I don't know what time Sylvie meant for me to go to the churchyard, and I don't know if I want to go. Surely if I'm checking the time, the idea of visiting it must appeal to me. The watch disappears from sight and Bec's looks at the watch herself, suddenly looking a little panicked. This time, I'm baffled by her lack of reply. No response, except a pick up in pace, and I'm nearly jogging after her to keep up.

"Hurry up!" She puffs, not looking back to me.

I stop as she disappears behind a gate. I don't want to follow anymore. I know I probably should. For some reason I know exactly why she's made haste towards the church grounds. I still don't want to follow. I know exactly which memorial she's visiting. Sylvie would want me to follow.

"Are you coming, or not?" Bec's head pops around the wooden gate and she holds her hand out for mine. I close my eyes and look to the floor. "Good." She takes my outstretched hand and pulls me inside.

I feel I'm about to meet someone else.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

There's a simple explanation for everything apparently. That statement is sadly, only half true. There is of course an explanation behind everything, whether it's simple or not is debatable. I'm unperturbed when I find Bec offers no reason for tugging on my arm like I'm a child's toy. I'm still not surprised when I'm faced with hurrying along the same stretch of gravel I stumble over when visiting my own friend from the unknown.

I still don't have the courage to question this.

"The time's a little inconvenient, don't you think? Considering I have to skip an afternoon off school once in a while." Bec smiles a little, tapping her lips with her index finger when we slow to a relaxed walk. Her grip releases on me, and I'm able to feel the blood rush to my hand where the circulation had before been cut off by her clasp around my wrist. "Sometimes I'm lucky, and it's a weekend when I come down here. I suppose you don't have much trouble with Sylvie, though."

This agitates me. She knows more about this whole affair more than I do. I could argue about the fairness in this, although I feel that wouldn't help me in anyway nor would it make this scenario appear clearer if I were to verbalise my frustration. The air is different here. There's something different here. Something that isn't like what I'm used to. I could say it's simply because it's a different time of day, different light, different temperature. Of course, I'm simply denying myself the knowledge, the truth of the matter. The difference is simply the change in presence among the grounds. The difference is it not being Sylvie about to step down from the stone podium, but her significant other.

"What's she like?" Bec asks, her tone has changed. I look up from the ground and my gaze travels to her own. Her voice matches her frown, a somewhat desperate curiosity is leaking from her and I feel a small surge of pride that finally I know something she doesn't. This is very childish of me, I know, but so far I've not had any real control over the situation I've found myself in. She shivers and rubs her palms together. I notice at this point she's wearing nothing but her short sleeved school blouse and a pleated skirt that left her bare legs to fend for themselves. I sigh and swing my rucksack around, unzipping and fumbling inside before pulling out a spare hooded jacket of mine. A pair of boxers and a sock falls out. She looks at me with an eyebrow raised as I hand her the jacket before hastily shoving the other items back inside the bag.

"I always have spares." I state. This doesn't appear to be much of an explanation after seeing my boxers in my school bag. "A lot of clothes get ruined at school. I'm sure you can imagine the rest after today." I refer non-specifically to our first encounter with my chair humiliation. She nods and smiles sympathetically before hoisting my bag back around to my back and zipping it up for me.

"So, seriously. Tell me about her. Danny doesn't really talk about her much. I think it get's to him." She sits down on the bench opposite the statue watching it. I follow her eyes line and allow my own to fix upon it. Sylvie's stone figure sits cross-legged watching a small wall that separates her from Danny, who sits exact to her position, except his palms lie flat to the wall, pressed hard against it. Bec's fingers click in front of my face, and I'm aware she's still awaiting me to make some sort of response. I turn to face her and say.

"Doesn't it scare you?"


End file.
